


Return of the Prodigal Agent

by Eiiri



Series: In From the Cold-verse [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Cooks, Clint likes Dogs, Clint likes Kids, Cute Kids, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Reunion, Kids say the darndest things, M/M, Meet the Family, Phil has Sisters, discussion of past trauma, hard of hearing clint, niblings, so much coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiiri/pseuds/Eiiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Takes place at the same time as In From the Cold chapters 38 and 39.)<br/>Phil's sure his sisters (or mother!) are going to kill him when he takes Clint to meet his family after a three year absence due to his death and amnesia.  If he's going to die for real, it might be of embarrassment—his mother takes a special glee in hauling out the family photos, and his niblings don't care that he's self conscious about his scars, they want to see.  Through a haze of coffee, brazen comments, meals, broken memories, and Clint helping a nibling with archery, Phil somehow reconnects with his family, talks shop with his Dad, and manages to have sweet relationship moments with Clint in spite of it all—and avoids being dragged on a family trip to Disney World that includes all seven—seven!—of his nieces and nephews.  It's a narrow escape.  Maybe Phil's nerves aren't quite intact by the end of it all.  Thank God Clint's there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint stepped out of the car and took in his surroundings: a large, white-painted farmhouse with a broad porch, no longer part of a farm and set back from a main road, in the middle of a large somewhat wild yard. In addition to his and Phil's borrowed black sedan, there were five vehicles parked on the gravel out front of the house: an old pickup, an unassuming Buick, a nice VW, a bedraggled minivan, and a powder blue hybrid.

He came around to Phil's side of the car and opened his door. “C'mon, let's do this thing.”

“My sisters are going to kill me. Unless my mother kills me first. She might beat them to it.”

Clint grimaced. “Your dad isn't on the list of potential executioners?”

“No. Just the women. They'll kill me.”

Clint shook his head. “Babe, I'm an assassin and I refrained from homicide. Come on.”

Phil sighed, stood, closed and locked the car, then walked with Clint up onto the porch. The door was unlocked, as Phil seemed to expect it to be. He was barely inside, Clint half a step behind him, when a small, heavy, cross-stitched pillow came flying through the air and smacked Phil in the face. He could have dodged it, Clint was sure, but he didn't even try.

“Philip Josiah Coulson, you asshole!” A woman—six years older than Phil, with dark hair that gleamed with a few strands of gray—stood at the end of the short entry hall. She swept forward and pulled him into a rough hug. Clint gathered she must be Maddie, Phil's oldest sister.

Two other women—one younger, closer to Clint's age, with a barely tamed pile of light brown curls, and another in a stripped down pantsuit who looked a little older than Phil—came forward. They glanced at Clint and then at each other before latching onto their brother. These two had to be baby sister Shannon and middle sister Kit.

In a mass of hugs and tears, they dragged him through a wide interior entryway. Ignored and fighting a grin, Clint trailed after the siblings.

In the living room, Maddie pushed Phil forward. Pink-faced and anxious looking, Phil stepped forward and embraced a thin but not frail woman who had to be his mother. She looked a bit like Katharine Hepburn had in her seventies—tough, no-nonsense, a ramrod straight apparently steel-reinforced spine, and not yet completely gray. She put her hands to either side of his face and kissed his forehead before passing him to her wet-eyed husband. He pulled Phil into a firm hug. “My son.”

“I'm here, Dad.”

“Why didn't you tell us you were alive?” Kit demanded, arms crossed under her chest.

“Uh.” Phil stepped back from his father.

“Partly because classified B.S., partly because he had amnesia,” Clint provided.

“You.” Shannon pointed at Clint without looking around at him. “We'll get to you. For now you don't exist.”

“Okay then.” Clint deposited himself in the corner La-Z-Boy to watch the show until he was existent again.

“Philip.” Mrs. Coulson took her son's hands. “What happened?”

Phil looked over his shoulder at Clint, who shrugged. “Hey, I don't exist right now. You got this.”

“Right...” Phil took a breath. “I died then I got brought back.”

“How?” Maddie said.

“I can't tell you that.” Phil shook his head. “It's classified for good reason.”

“Phil—” Kit began.

“If he can't say”—Mr. Coulson cut his middle daughter off—“he can't say. If we needed to know, I damn well expect he'd tell us.”

“I would,” Phil affirmed. “It's for the best that as few people as possible know those details.”

“All right, Mr. Agent Man, we'll buy that,” Shannon said, “but how long have you been not-dead? Why didn't you contact any of us until last week?”

“I was in rehab for quite a while.” Phil glanced at Clint. “After that, I had amnesia. It took me a long time to come back from that. I should have contacted quite a few people but didn't.”

“People like him?” Shannon jerked a thumb toward Clint.

“Yes.” Phil nodded. “Like him.”

“You.” Shannon turned to Clint.

“Me?” Clint straightened up in the recliner.

“Who are you?”

“Clint Barton.”

“Relationship to my brother?”

“Common-law widower, except he's not dead anymore, so partner I guess?”

“I knew it.” Shannon rounded on Kit and held out a hand, palm up. Kit sighed and fished her wallet out of the pocket in her slacks. She slapped fifty dollars into Shannon's hand.

“Hang on,” Clint said. “Was I the subject of a bet?”

“You were at the funeral, you know, with a redheaded woman,” Maddie said. “Knew you both had to be coworkers of Phil's—both sort of screamed C.I.A. Kit figured the redhead was with Phil, Shannon figured you were. I declined to take the bet. Course it seemed unlikely to ever get settled.”

“They bet about everything.” Phil sighed.

“Phil, honey, why didn't you tell us?” Mrs. Coulson asked. “We'd have accepted it.”

“He went into the military,” Mr. Coulson said. “All that was a lot harder decades ago.”

“As far as dealing with other people.” Mrs. Coulson straightened up further. “But not as far as dealing with his mother.”

Phil put his hand on his mother's shoulder. “It took me a long time to accept it, Mom.”

Kit considered him. “Is this why you and Shelly didn't work out?”

“Yes,” Phil said.

“Did she know before you?”

“Yes.” Phil turned and eyed Kit.

“How—how did she know before you?” Maddie asked. “Better question—how did you not know? I've known since you were eleven.”

Phil's mouth dropped open. “How on Earth could you have known that?”

“I just knew, little brother.” She shrugged. “That's why I didn't take the bet.”

“I think I like your sisters, Phil.” Clint chuckled. Kit grinned at him.

“Why don't we sit?” Mrs. Coulson said.

Phil sat on the end of the sofa that was closest to the recliner where Clint lounged, having just gotten the footrest up. Shannon sat next to Phil, Maddie sat next to her, Kit sat on the floor, and Mr. and Mrs. Coulson sat in a pair of coordinating wing chairs that were also recliners.

“This thing about you dying,” Shannon said. “I'm guessing it was more than just your heart stopping for a minute or two.”

Phil grimaced. “You might say that.”

“Were you dead for a few hours or something?” Kit asked. “I'm pretty sure the record is something like an hour and a half of being clinically dead before being brought back and that was a case of hypothermia.”

Phil shook his head. “Let's just say it was horrific and talk about something else.”

“So you were gone for a while,” Shannon mused. “You suffered brain death.”

Phil laughed. “I'm sure Maddie would say I've suffered many bouts of brain death.”

Maddie smirked. “Mostly when you were a teenager.”

“It's just”—Shannon took a breath—“did that cause the amnesia?”

“Partly.” Phil became pale. “The treatment itself was...traumatic.”

“Alright, fine, let's not talk about that, what _can_ you tell us?” Kit asked. “How's the C.I.A? Any good restaurants in Langley?”

“I'm not C.I.A.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D,” Clint said. “We're both S.H.I.E.L.D. I do know a good Thai place in Langley, though.” He gestured. “Can I get names confirmed here? Shannon, right?”

“Kathleen,” the sister in the slacks said. “People call me Kit.” She leaned her elbows on the coffee table. “You're _S.H.I.E.L.D_?”

“Not Hydra.” Phil held his hands up. “Clint, my sisters, Shannon, Kathleen, and Madelyn. We call her Maddie.”

“I'm Julie,” Mrs. Coulson said. “My husband Robert.” She gestured. “So sorry, we've mostly been ignoring you.”

“No problem.” Clint shook his head. “The zombie is more important.”

“Zombie?” Maddie laughed. “You sound like my kids.”

“To—uh, one of our coworkers is even worse with the names.” Phil shrugged. “Walking dead man, Dr. Zomboss, undead, and widow's son from Nain.”

“This is all pretty unsettling,” Maddie said. “As you saw, I threw something at him. What'd you do when you saw him again?”

“Sort of the same?” It came out a question. Clint felt his cheeks burn. “I hit him and then I kissed him.”

Kit dissolved in a fit of giggles.

“He didn't mean the hit,” Phil said. “If he had, it would've been a punch and my jaw'd have been broken.”

Mr. Coulson visually assessed Clint's upper body strength. “I'd say that's true.”

“I was upset,” Clint breathed.

“Of course you were, dear,” Mrs. Coulson said. “We all are.”

“Mom.” Phil leaned forward. “I'm so sorry.”

“Phil,” she said, “you were always a good son. You had a tendency to turn inward, even isolate yourself. What's hard about this is the length of time. A few months would have gotten a shrug, I think.”

“I don't know where to start.” Phil put one hand partway over his face. “Physical therapy went on for a while. The amnesia was complicated and went on for two years. After that I was still a mess and—wow, I'm bad at this.”

“I can actually understand that.” Mr. Coulson leaned forward. “It can take a long time to recover – months and years—people underestimate how much time. I just wish we'd been allowed to be there.”

“I—” Phil took a breath. “My cover file says no family.”

Clint lowered the footrest and sat up straight. He pointed at Phil. “Your boss”—he refused to say Fury's name—“knew that file was a cover. He didn't know about me but he knew you had a family. Not only did he let everyone believe you were dead, he made sure we did. He was playing ugly games. Used you to guilt the rest of the team into shutting up and doing as told, even.”

Phil was starting to look gray. “He didn't know whether I'd make it.”

“I don't care,” Clint snapped. “You could have been a puddle on the floor, been in a coma, looked at us day after day and not known who we were, and we'd have been there until the end. All of us.”

Phil flinched.

“Oh.” Clint blew out a breath and looked around the room. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Mrs. Coulson's gaze was steady as she studied Clint. “I feel just the same.”

“Deep cover,” Mr. Coulson mused. “An agent no one knows about who is ultimately expendable because he's already dead. That is an ugly game.”

Phil tapped his fingers against the couch in a nervous gesture. Clint caught his eyes for an instant. _Breathe_ he signed and Phil relaxed slightly.

Kit leaned her head into her hand. “So why'd you break cover?” Her eyes were razor sharp as she watched her brother.

“I thought Clint might've been killed, so I called, then I didn't hear anything for a month—”

“Hey, I was stuck in Argentina,” Clint said, palms raised defensively, “with bricked up electronics. Even my hearing aids didn't work.”

“Wait.” Shannon twisted to face Phil head on. “This is the hard of hearing agent you had the crush on years ago? You liar! I asked about that back then and you said no.”

Phil held his hands up. “He worked for me!”

“I didn't ask about it.” Maddie smiled. “I was pretty sure he was in love with the mystery agent.” She looked at Clint. “He couldn't talk about you without getting this look in his eyes.”

Phil's face went red.

“Huh.” Kit narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You still haven't crossed that bridge have you?”

“Um.” Phil looked at Clint.

“We're working on it.” Clint quickly signed reassurance to Phil.

“What was that?” Shannon asked.

One side of Clint's mouth ticked up. “I told him just change the subject.”

Maddie grinned. “And then you signed 'I love you.' My triplets are in Montessori school and they use ASL.”

“Busted,” Shannon said.

“Apparently my sisters have accepted you,” Phil said dryly. “They're treating you about as badly as they do me.”

“Not even close,” Maddie said. “We won't break out embarrassing pictures of him.”

Phil rolled his eyes.

Clint tapped the tips of his fingers together like a Bond villain. “Pictures?”

Maddie grinned. “Pictures.”

“Please, no,” Phil said as his mother got up to fetch an album from a shelf.

“Let me see these pictures.” Clint bounded up from his chair.

“Clint.” Phil grabbed for the back of the archer's shirt too late; he was already resettling himself on the floor by the coffee table where Mrs. Coulson had lain the scrapbook

“I've been waiting for years to be able to do this.” Mrs. Coulson's grin had an evil gleam to it. “I never did get to show these to Celeste. I eventually gave up on him getting remarried. But now he's brought you home.” She glanced at Clint. “He didn't tell us he was bringing you home. If he had, I might already have all the albums and a few loose photos stacked up and ready to be shown.”

Hiding behind one hand, Phil muttered. “And this is partially exactly why I didn't say anything...”

“Consider it a return on getting to read my background check,” Clint quipped happily.

Phil sighed, resigned to spending the next hour or more wallowing in varying degrees of humiliation. A smirking Clint rapidly signed to him _Play along. Your Mom and sisters are trying to do something normal in an abnormal situation_. Clint suspected they were also trying to pace how much shock they had to process in a short time. He had a lot of sympathy for that.

Phil watched him thoughtfully, then nodded.

Mrs. Coulson joined Kit on the floor. Maddie and Shannon leaned over the coffee table from their spots on the couch while their mother flipped through the pages that were dominated by pictures of a very young Phil, complete with the occasional bare-bottomed baby photo or streaking toddler picture. Maddie and Shannon were in a lot of the photos too, but this was one of Phil's albums. The label on the side said so.

Phil rolled his eyes and sometimes put his hand over his face but, on the whole, he rolled with it. Clint signed _proud of you_. Phil smiled.

Clint found it easy to gush things like, “He is just adorable,” over most of the photos, because it was true. Toddler Phil was precious. The more Clint showed genuine interest and commented with enthusiasm, the more Julie Coulson laughed and patted him on the arm. Robert Coulson beamed.

“Oh wow.” Clint looked at Phil. “Did your sisters drag you around like this all the time?”

“They were terrors,” Phil said, deadpan.

Maddie grinned. “He was the youngest for seven years. Of course we dragged him around. Sometimes we put doll clothes on him.”

“And sometimes we put the dog's sweater on him.” Kit shrugged.

“You did that.” Maddie pointed at Kit.

“Of course I did. Back then, I wanted to become a veterinarian.”

Mrs. Coulson dragged down another album. This one had preschool and early elementary school photos of Phil in it.

“You were such a cute kindergartener.” Clint turned a page in the album and burst out laughing at a picture of Phil dressed up as Captain America for Halloween. “Nice.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and snapped a photo of the page. “Steve has got to see this.”

Phil made to grab Clint's phone but was easily dodged.

“Steve?” Maddie asked.

“Uh, coworker,” Clint said, still successfully playing keepaway with his phone while he texted.

“Another Cap fan, huh?”

“Something like that.” Clint grinned triumphantly and tossed his phone to Phil. _M_ _essage delivered_ glowed at the bottom of the screen. Phil shook his head and handed the phone back to Clint.

When the album page was flipped, Phil leaned forward. “I remember this.” He fingered the page. “I was eight. You can't really see what I was working on but it was a school project, a Captain America diorama.”

Julie Coulson nodded. “You made an A on it.”

“I did?” Phil sounded shocked,

“Of course you did,” his mother said. “You were always detail-oriented and, this being Captain America, you took special care.”

Phil frowned. Clint watched him carefully.

“You don't remember that?” Maddie said. “You were so proud of it.”

“No.” Phil sighed. “I don't remember my presentation or my grade.”

Kit's mouth dropped open. “You were so neurotic about your A's. Your memory really was fucked up.”

Phil was taken aback. “Well, yeah.”

Robert Coulson coaxed Phil to the floor. The whole family spent the next hour reminiscing with Phil and helping him remember the roughly thirty per cent of photographed moments that he simply had no recollection of.

Shannon's phone rang. She answered it. “Hey, honey.” She paused. “Yeah, I figure you're allowed to come back now.” She looked to her brother and eldest sister, received a shrug and a nod, respectively. “Yes, you can come back. Hold on a sec.” She watched carefully as her mother mouthed something at her. Shannon nodded.

“Hey, hon?” Shannon said. “Mom asked if you and Hector can bring sandwiches back for lunch for everybody.” She listened then said, “Yeah. The catering platters from the deli sound perfect. See you soon. Also, uh, brace yourselves. No, nothing bad. I promise. Just, brace. Love you too. Bye, hon.” She hung up. “We sent the husbands and the kids—”

“And the dogs,” Kit added.

“ _And_ the dogs down the road to the park,” Shannon finished.

“You brought the dogs?” Phil asked Kit.

“I was told whole family meeting, hell yes I brought the dogs.”

“I like dogs,” Clint said.

“Good.” Kit crossed her arms.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When the away group returned, the first ones to reach the living room were the dogs. A pair of long, lean greyhounds came bounding in, jumped all over Kit, then jumped all over Phil who petted them good-naturedly, then the dogs sniffed at Clint curiously, decided he was good, and jumped all over him too before finally curling up into a pile of brindled fur next to the Lay-Z-Boy.

The dogs and the excitement they brought with them had kept Clint and the already assembled members of the Coulson clan distracted from the group coalescing in the doorway. At the front of the group was a girl—young woman really—of twenty, with dark hair pulled back in a pony tail, and bright gray eyes, wide with shock, that were starting to tear. “Uncle Phil?”

“Hey, Elissa.” Phil held an arm open to her.

She stepped forward and hugged him hard. Five more niblings ranging from nine to sixteen followed suit, effectively mobbing Phil and greatly reducing his range of movement—and ability to breathe. This left two men standing in the doorway looking confused, one who was probably Latino but possibly Filipino, and one who could use some goatee keeping advice from Tony who also had a sleeping four year old draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Shannon took the child from her husband.

“I thought your brother was dead,” the other man, who had to be Maddie's husband, said quietly.

“Yeah, he sorta was, now he's not. Long story, apparently classified, That's why the family meeting. Oh, and he brought his boyfriend.” Shannon gestured at Clint.

Maddie's husband held a hand up toward Clint. “God help you.”

Clint laughed nervously. “Thanks?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, he checked it to find the exact same sentiment— _Thanks?_ —offered to him by Steve.

Maddie stood. “Clint, this is my husband, Hector. Hector, Clint.” The two men nodded at each other.

“And this”—Shannon gestured—“is my husband Shawn.”

Shawn, who had the goatee, held out his hand. Clint shook it.

“We should introduce the grand kids,” Mrs. Coulson said.

“Fall in!” Mr. Coulson said in a command voice. He sounded eerily like Phil giving orders.

The Coulson grandchildren lined up from oldest to youngest, except for the sleeping one. The greyhounds obeyed the order too, standing at attention beside the youngest grandson in line.

“The five oldest are Maddie's children,” Mrs. Coulson said. Then she ran through names, beginning at one end of the line-up and proceeding down it, “Elissa, Savanna, Gabby, Cass, and Zach are siblings. As you can see Gabby, Cass, and Zach are triplets. Dakota is Shannon's son. And the dogs are Kit's children, Aladdin and Cleopatra.”

“And my little sister Cadie,” Dakota added, gesturing toward the sleeping little girl in Shannon's arms.

“Yes, and Cadence,” Mrs. Coulson amended. “Everyone, this is Clint.”

Clint raised a hand in greeting. “Yo.”

Cass—Clint was pretty sure it was Cass standing next to his sister, Gabby, the boys were identical—eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Your uncle's boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Savanna's eyebrows made for her hairline.

“How old are you?” Clint crossed his arms.

“Sixteen.”

“Yeah, I'm not going to dignify that with an explanation.” He rolled his eyes. “You're in high school and you have Google.”

She tossed her hair. “Fair point.”

“So,” Shawn turned to Phil, “you are a sight for sore eyes.”

Phil crossed his arms. “Thanks.”

“So, you're sure you actually died?” Hector asked.

“Yeah.” Phil sighed.

“Uncle Phil's a zombie,” chirped one of the two triplet boys.

The other one grinned. “Sweet.”

They high-fived each other. Clint gestured at the boys. “See, they agree with me.”

“They are twelve years old.”

“According to at least half our coworkers, so am I.”

“You should fit right in then,” Kit said.

Phil shot her a look. She shrugged. Her gesture was so Phil-like it sent shivers down Clint's spine.

“How'd you become one of the walking dead?” Hector persisted. The two boys stood beside their father and looked expectantly at their uncle,

Phil sighed. “Battle.”

Hector looked him over. “You don't look like you're missing limbs or something.”

“Friend of ours who's a veteran,” Clint said, “has a prosthetic arm. Phil's wounds were different, deadlier actually.”

Clint signed one word to Phil, who shook his head. “No.” He switched to sign language. “ _Especially not with the kids here.”_

Clint rolled his eyes and turned to Maddie's triplets. “ _You know a little ASL, right?_ ” he signed slowly and clearly.

They brightened and signed enthusiastic yesses.

“ _Please, take them,_ ” he indicated Shannon's kids, “ _and go away?_ ”

Gabby flashed him an “ _OK_ ” then she and her brothers herded their younger cousins out of the room. Clint sat back and crossed his arms. “There, I got rid of the small ones. Scars, Philip.”

Phil's lips formed a grim line and he was pale as he stared Clint down.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Maddie said. “The kids will stay away only so long. Just go ahead and take your shirt off.”

Phil's shoulders slumped in resignation. Clint fought off a triumphant grin. Phil slowly peeled off his soft yellow polo shirt.

Mrs. Coulson gasped when she saw the scars on Phil's chest. She collapsed heavily into her wing chair when he turned around and she saw the matching, but even more brutal looking, set of scars on her son's back.

“No one could have survived that.” Maddie's voice was reedy.

“He didn't,” Clint said.

Mr. Coulson went over to Phil and traced the scars on his back.

“I am impressed, sir,” Clint said. “It took me a few weeks to work up the nerve to deliberately touch Phil's scars.”

Mr. Coulson smiled an acknowledgment. “Seems to get easier to be tough as I get older, maybe because I've seen so much.” He turned to Phil. “Something went right through you.” It wasn't a question.

Phil turned around and nodded. “Something like an especially horrible spear.”

“All the way through?” Kit asked thinly.

“Looks that way,” Shawn said. “The scars tell the tale.”

“Guess you really did die,” Hector said.

“I really did.” With an air of relief, Phil put his shirt back on. “Mercifully, I don't remember much about that moment or for quite a while afterward.”

Elissa went over and put her arms around Phil. “What you must have gone through. Oh my God.” Silent tears tracked down her face.

Savanna stood to the side in open-mouthed shock.

Maddie, Shannon, and Kit went over and turned Elissa's gesture into a group hug. Maddie reached out and grabbed Clint's arm. She dragged him into the group hug. They didn't break apart until the younger children came seeking permission to return.

Elissa was the last person to let go of Phil. She leaned toward him and spoke softly. “Last time I was at your grave, I left Captain America, in case you needed help sometime.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “You mean the toy.”

She nodded. He grinned. “Thank you! I found that yesterday. I left him, along with another action figure, to guard everything.”

Elissa smiled. “Thought you'd like it.”

“I love it”

Julie Coulson nudged her son-in-law. “Where are the sandwich platters, Shawn?”

“Pretty sure Hector brought them to the kitchen,” Shawn said.

“Sandwiches?” Dakota's inquiry was hopeful and enthusiastic.

With a chuckle, Robert Coulson shooed the children into the kitchen. He followed them and the adults followed him.

“Kids eat on the back porch,” Maddie said as she stepped into the kitchen. “That means anyone under eighteen.”

Savanna skidded to a halt and, mouth hanging open, stared at her mother. Maddie's eyebrow ticked up slightly. “Earlier, you demonstrated your inability to deal with even a low level, straightforward grown-up conversation.”

“So I'm banished to built-in babysitter duty?” Savanna objected.

“Not at all,” Hector said. “Aunt Shannon's littlest one will stay in here and the rest can look out for themselves. Feel free to sit by yourself and have lunch.”

“Cadie gets to stay here?” Savanna all but shrieked.

“Savanna Josephine.” Maddie didn't raise her voice but her tone was sharp.

Savanna's shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma'am.” She sighed.

Clint grinned when he caught Maddie's eye. She shrugged. “Mother of five learns to give orders.”

“You were born to it, honey,” Hector said. “Course I'm never sure if you get it from your Mom or your Dad.”

“Her Mom,” Mr. Coulson said with a chuckle. “No question.” He put his hand on Phil's elbow and Clint's shoulder and steered them toward the big wooden table in the spacious country kitchen. He sat next to his son and passed paper plates and napkins to Phil and Clint. Mrs. Coulson and Maddie passed glasses of lemonade out to everyone at the table. Hector and Shawn got the kids settled with food and drink out on the porch.

The elder Mr. Coulson and Phil both put mixed coldcut sandwiches on their plates. Clint grabbed a turkey club sandwich. Julie Coulson sat next to her husband then selected a roast beef sandwich.

Robert Coulson's and Phil's movements seemed synchronized as they talked shop and ate their sandwiches.

“You look remarkably fit for someone sporting scars like that,” Mr. Coulson said. “You still doing field work?”

“He looks remarkably alive for someone sporting scars like that,” Mrs. Coulson muttered darkly.

Phil and his dad leaned forward in tandem and aimed a matching set of wry grins at Mrs. Coulson. She raised her eyebrows.

“I still do fieldwork at times,” Phil said. “But I wind up doing way too much paperwork.”

“All this computerization and mobile devices must have changed all that.”

“Some.” Phil chuckled. “But not as much as you'd think. I still wrangle an astonishing number of paper files.”

“Mmm,” Mr. Coulson said. “I well understand that. Going out in the field can be a relief sometimes.”

“Harrowing.” Phil sighed. “When I go out in the field, it's usually harrowing.”

Mr. Coulson and Clint each raised an eyebrow.

Julie Coulson leaned toward Clint. “So you're the one that planted that miniature rosebush last year?”

“Yes ma'am,” he said. “I suspect you planted the miniature white roses.”

“I did,” Mrs. Coulson said. “I noticed signs of someone visiting Phil's grave regularly. I was a little surprised because Phil never mentioned anyone but it was clear to me that someone loved him.”

Clint felt his cheeks get hot. “Yes ma'am.”

“Julie and I were very touched,” Mr. Coulson said. “We were glad someone loved him.”

Clint's face burned more. “Thank you sir.”

“I used to wish I could talk to you, at least once,” Mrs. Coulson said softly. “I notice that you left homemade baked goods.”

“Yes, ma'am, I did.”

“I'm glad to finally meet you.” She glanced at her husband, “We both are.” Robert nodded.

“I'm glad to meet you too,” Clint said warmly.

“I can hardly believe”—Robert Coulson was breathless as he spoke—“that you brought him with you.” He took a breath. “That Phil is alive.”

“I hardly believe it myself,” Clint said.

“I, um”—Phil was red-faced as he spoke—“I think I brought him with me.”

“Dear,” Julie Coulson said, “I really have the impression he brought you with him.”

Phil thought about that. “Well, in some ways,” he conceded.

Clint leaned toward Phil. “I was just supportive.”

Phil shook his head. “You dialed Shannon's number and thrust the phone in my hand when I was too paralyzed to do it. And, uh, you got the travel plans finalized.”

Shannon smirked. “Thanks, Clint. I should've realized.”

Clint ducked his head and mumbled. “You're welcome.”

Maddie quirked an eyebrow. “So you're one of those blonds that tend to be bashful. You're old enough and polished enough that it isn't immediately obvious but it shows up under stress.”

Clint was baffled. “What's blond got to do with it?”

“There's a genetic component,” Maddie said. “It's associated with blonds with light eyes. You look like you'd have the genetics even though you're a gray-eyed blond rather than a blue-eyed blond.”

“Gray?” Clint and Phil said in unison.

Maddie chuckled. “Sure. You've got gray eyes that look different at different times, mostly green, gray, and blue from what I see.”

“Mom, any gray eyes are gonna look those colors.” Elissa said. “In a sense, gray eyes are blue eyes with a little bit of yellow in them, and green eyes are blue eyes with enough yellow in them to look green but not enough yellow to be amber eyes.”

“So,” Clint said, “you might say gray eyes are green-ish?”

Elissa laughed. “Sort of.”

“Because I'm never sure how to describe my eyes and I usually say greenish.”

“They're definitely gray,” Maddie said.

“But they are hard to describe,” Elissa said, “because you have a bit of heterochromia where you have an amber ring in the center of your eyes.”

“What are you studying in college?” Phil asked before eating the last bite of his sandwich.

Elissa grinned. “Biology.”

“Planning to become a doctor?” Phil said.

She shook her head. “I think about it sometimes but then I always decide I'm not willing to go through what they make you do to become an MD. Seems like a horrible kind of hazing.”

Julie Coulson got up and filled the glass carafe from her Mr. Coffee with filtered water. She set about making a full pot of decaf.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The coffee finished brewing right about the time the sandwiches were gone. Maddie, Elissa, and Shannon fixed mugs for themselves. Mrs. Coulson poured coffee for herself and her husband. Phil went over and fixed mugs for himself and Clint. He took a big sip of Clint's sweet coffee before handing it to him. Maddie and Kit grinned.

Hector and Shawn checked on the kids, who opted to play in the backyard when they were finished eating. The greyhounds stayed out in the backyard to play too.

Coffee mugs in hand, the adults returned to the big open living room.

“He always drink your coffee?” Kit took a sip from her green labeled bottle of Coke Life.

“He's been drinking my coffee since before we had any kind of personal relationship,” the archer said.

Maddie smirked. “Meant he liked you.” Phil's head snapped around to her.

Clint sighed. “Wish I'd known that seven or eight years ago.”

Robert Coulson coaxed Phil to sit in the wing chair next to him. Julie Coulson dragged a couple more photo albums from a shelf and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. She and her daughters went through more photos with Clint. Hector and Shawn came to the living room carrying their own mugs of coffee and sat near their wives.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. must be a tough place to be nowadays,” Robert Coulson said.

Phil nodded. “Rebuilding. Trying to figure out who's trustworthy. It is tough.”

“Sounds like it's harrowing regardless of whether you're out in the field or being a desk jockey.”

Phil drank some coffee. “A lot of days that's true.” He caught Clint's eyes and held them for a moment. Silent support and gratitude passed between them.

Over the course of the next three hours of talking and looking at photos, Maddie and Hector, and Shannon and Shawn all took their turn of checking on the kids and staying with them for about twenty minutes before returning.

After the first hour, Phil pulled over another chair so Clint could sit with him and Mr. Coulson.

“I understand you're a hell of an asset,” Robert Coulson said.

Clint shrugged. “He's the brains, I'm the muscle.”

The elder Mr. Coulson looked at him shrewdly. “I'm sure you're a lot more than that.”

“He is, Dad,” Phil said. “Mostly self-educated but whip-smart.”

Clint felt his face growing hot. He really didn't want to be the subject of another conversation.

“He and Natasha make for an unbeatable team,” Phil said.

“She the redheaded woman?” Mr. Coulson said.

Relieved to have an easy opening to change the subject, Clint nodded. “Nat's amazing. Unique asset, unique history.”

From time to time, the others in the room joined in Mr. Coulson's conversation with Phil and Clint. Phil made a point of keeping Clint close.

Aladdin and Cleopatra returned to the house first. They made a long stop at their water bowls in the kitchen before heading into the living room where they collapsed next to the recliner and fell asleep. Cadie returned to the house soon after that and wound up napping on the floor next to the greyhounds.

Half an hour after Cadie fell asleep, the remaining children straggled into the living room. Within ten minutes of all the children coming inside, Cadie was blinking herself awake.

Cass walked over and stood in front of Phil. He drew himself up. “Savanna says you have some really ugly scars.”

Phil shot a look at his teenaged niece before answering. “Yeah, I do.”

“I want to see,” Cass said.

Phil raised his eyebrows.

Cass pulled one leg of his jeans up. He showed Phil a pattern of scars on his calf. “This is where I got caught in a piece of barbwire that was thrown away in the woods. I had stitches and everything.”

“I see,” Phil said. “Those are some impressive scars.”

“I sometimes win scar showing-off contests with these.”

Phil caught Maddie's eyes. She shrugged and said, “Boys.”

“May as well let them see too,” Hector said.

Phil's exhale sounded especially weary. He shifted forward on the sofa and removed his shirt again.

“Those are cool!” Dakota said from behind Cass. Dakota and Cass grabbed Phil's wrists and tugged. He allowed himself to be pulled from the couch onto the floor.

Zach came over and examined Phil's scars front and back. “You would totally win every scar showing-off contest ever,” he declared.

Determined not to be left out, Aladdin and Cleopatra came over to sniff at Phil's scars. Before long, Phil was down on the carpet, laughing, as a pile of dogs and kids shoved at him and each other. Cadie joined the pile for good measure. She had no interest in anyone's scars. Apparently, it just looked like fun.

Still shirtless, Phil sat up, scattering children and dogs as he did. They stayed close though. Cadie and Cleopatra crawled across his legs, one after the other. Gabby and Zach took the opportunity to compare the length and thickness of their scars to the ones on their uncle's back.

Phil chuckled. “It never occurred to me that scars could be entertaining.”

“Hard to remain self-conscious around kids,” Maddie said.

“It is,” Kit said drily. “Believe me, I've tried. Discovered that's a losing battle. So is maintaining dignity.”

Shannon elbowed her older sister. “You know you love it.”

Kit smiled crookedly. “Sometimes.”

Phil stood and put his shirt back on.

Cadence wandered over to the wall of built-in shelves. Shereached up on tiptoe to grab a jar of hard candies, wrestled the lid off, and upturned it. Nothing came out. The candies had fused into a solid mass of colored sugar. She looked up at her older brother with an expression of deepest betrayal.

“Hey, Grandma,” Dakota said, “I think these candies have been in that jar longer than Cadie's been alive.”

“I think you're right.” Julie swooped in, set the jar back on the shelf, and picked Cadence up. “Let's find something fresher, hm?”

Mrs. Coulson and Shannon disappeared into the kitchen. They returned ten minutes later with a plate of fruit, cheese sticks, and crackers. The children tore into the snacks like a pack of hyenas. Shawn and Robert Coulson each angled their way into the crowd of youngsters and thieved a cheese stick.

Mrs. Coulson put her hands on her hips. “Well, I think we had best start supper.”

“I can help,” Clint offered.

“Oh, no, there's no need,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “You're a guest.”

“No, really, I like cooking. I went to culinary school.” He followed her out of the room.

Kit glanced at Phil. “Can I have one? Does he have a brother?”

“Actually, yes, he does.”

“You do not want my brother.” Clint popped back up in the doorway. “My brother is a jerk. And still in prison, unless he's on parole, but knowing how much of a jerk he is, I highly doubt he made parole.”

Kit frowned. “What's he in prison for?”

“I don't know.” Clint shook his head. “I wasn't around for the arrest or trial and there's plenty it coulda been. My best guess is drugs or robbery. Sister-in-law never mentioned what it was for while I was helping her move after she divorced the sorry jackass. Hardly even mentioned him at all.”

“Wait,” Phil frowned, “I thought Barney was only in prison about a year.”

“He got arrested _again_.” Clint rolled his eyes and slid easily back through the door to the kitchen.

Julie Coulson pulled three big plastic containers out of the freezer. “I've got this covered, Clint,” she said. “I keep containers of my homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer for unexpected family gatherings. It's easy to deal with and kid friendly.”

Clint grinned. “Phil gets his planning genius from you I see.”

Julie smiled. “From me and Robert in different ways, I think.”

“Double dose, huh? No wonder he's terrifying with the completeness of his planning. His contingencies have contingencies.”

“That's my Phil.” She paused then turned and clasped his forearm. “I can't thank you enough for making sure he got here.”

“Ma'am, I...” He took a breath.

“I know my son.” There was steel in her grip. “He might have second-guessed himself ten times before finally making it here. We didn't see him for eleven months and four big occasions after his marriage ended, and then he wouldn't talk about it. Not only is he talking, he's shown us those godawful scars.”

Clint's face was on fire and his eyes studied the floor while he swallowed.

“I'm not trying to put you on the spot.” She patted his arm. “But I see the way he looks to you for support and I see the way you push him. I want you to know how grateful I am.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, then he looked at her. “Push him?” His words were a little uncertain because he'd been trying so hard not to push Phil's buttons, trying hard not to make this visit any tougher than it already was.

“He never would have showed us his scars if you didn't push him.” Mrs. Coulson smiled. “That dynamic of supporting and pushing is how I know your relationship has depth and strength.”

Clint straightened up. He'd never thought of it that way.

She pulled him further into the kitchen. “I've got bags of salad and garlic bread from the deli, but I prefer homemade desserts hands down.”

“You are a woman after my own heart.”

“I already made the cake bases for fruit tortes and Kit cooked chocolate pudding this morning. The pudding's been poured into ice cream sundae glasses because those are the perfect size for a serving. Maddie already made the whipped cream, too.”

“Homemade pudding?” Clint asked.

Mrs. Coulson shook her head. “Oetker organic.”

“Also awesome.”

“I believe in high quality food.”

“Totally agree,” he said. “Although I also know how to make a meal out of seemingly nothing.”

“That's an important life skill.” She handed him bags and containers of strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, peaches, apricots, and plums.

Clint set about cutting, carving, and arranging fruit on the cake bases and the dishes of pudding while Julie Coulson got the frozen spaghetti sauce out of the freezer containers and into a big pot. She heated it up on low so it would thaw without scorching. That was going to take a while.

“It's easy to be around you in the kitchen,” she said as she handed him packets of clear glaze mix.

He smiled in acknowledgment as he took the packets. He used fruit juice and water to make a light glaze with a hint of sweetness for the tortes. He finished decorating the tortes by piping fresh whipped cream onto them, then decorated the puddings with whipped cream, carved fruit dipped in glaze, and shavings of sweet baking chocolate.

“Ooh,” Mrs. Coulson said. “Those are almost too pretty eat.”

“Be a shame not to,” he said.

“I agree.” She helped him fit everything into the refrigerator. “Now shoo until I'm finished with dinner.” She gestured toward the back door.

Evicted from the kitchen, Clint wandered out to the back yard. There he found Gabby practicing archery. He grinned and watched her for a couple shots. “Try nocking on the other side of the bow, you can redraw faster.”

She frowned at him. “That's backward though.”

“No, you got taught backward. Everybody gets taught backward.”

“Yeah right,” she scoffed with twelve-year-old disdain in all its glory. “If everybody's taught it then it's not backward.”

“Unless it was always the other way around until like a hundred years ago,” he countered. He held out his hands. “May I?”

Cautiously, she handed him her bow. He grabbed three arrows and fired them in quick succession, forming a cluster in the middle of the target so tight the arrow shafts were touching. She gaped. He handed her bow back to her. “Your move, Katniss.”

He winked; she giggled.

They shot and retrieved all of Gabby's arrows three times before being fetched for dinner. Clint provided commentary and adjusted Gabby's form as she practiced. He took photos of her and showed her what her form looked like so they could discuss it. When Maddie called out, “Dinner time in ten,” from the porch, Clint gave her a thumbs up.

“We'll be in as soon as we pack up the archery equipment,” he said.

“Thanks.” Maddie went back inside.

“I've got one arrow left,” Gabby pointed out.

Clint grinned. “Let me help you line that shot up. See that arrow that's closest to the center? Hit that one.”

She frowned. “You mean hit the arrow?”

He nodded.

She shrugged. “Sounds crazy but, fine.”

Gabby drew back and aimed. Clint sighted along her arrow, adjusted her a fraction then stepped away. “Take the shot, Merida.”

A look of intense concentration on her face, she fired. And split the first arrow.

She whooped.

Clint gave her a high five. They both took out their phones to take photos of the target. Then Clint took photos of Gabby beside the target. They finished up with each of them taking selfies of the two of them standing together in front of the target.

Gabby was effervescent with excitement as they packed away the target and the archery equipment. As soon as that chore was completed, she sprinted toward the house. “Dad, Clint helped me do that Mythbusters trick!”

Phil stepped out onto the porch to meet the grinning archer. “Training the next generation I see.”

“I figure it's like being a music virtuoso,” Clint said. “Gotta start training the brain by age thirteen or you're never quite as good.”

Phil considered that. “Might be true.” He pulled Clint into a kiss. “I appreciate all that you're doing,” he murmured.

Clint didn't have a chance to reply before he found himself tugged into the kitchen.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“We're just starting to serve,” Robert Coulson said.

“Sit over here.” Julie Coulson indicated two chairs that were side by side.

“Wine or beer?” Hector asked.

Phil and Clint both said, “Beer.”

Within minutes everyone was settled and served.

“Wonderful spaghetti,” Phil said. His mother beamed.

“I agree,” Shannon said. “You've outdone yourself again with the sauce, Mom.”

Clint leaned toward Phil. “Barnes would love this too.” Phil grinned.

Zach watched his uncle intently. “So have you killed people?” he asked reverently.

“Zachariel!” Maddie said sternly.

Phil choked on a spinach leaf.

“Uh, yes,” Clint said between bites of his salad, attempting to rescue Phil.

“Cool.”

“No, not cool.” Clint set his fork down and pointed at Zach. “Killing people is not cool. It is messy and scary and almost always illegal. Do not kill people unless you have to in self-defense because they're gonna kill you or one of your siblings if you don't. Or if you get a job as a superspy assassin, but then still only kill people who are gonna kill other people.”

“You could've left that bit off,” Phil said quietly.

“I, unlike Natasha, try to avoid being a hypocrite.” Clint resumed eating.

“Mom, can I be a spy?” Dakota asked.

“No,” Shannon replied quickly.

“Uncle Phil's a spy.”

“I'm a bureaucrat.”

Clint snorted.

Phil shot him a look. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. You _are_ a bureaucrat, can't argue that.”

“Do you have a gun?” Cass resumed the questioning his brother had left off.

“I don't like guns. Too easy to hurt people accidentally with guns. I'm an archer.”

“That explains so much,” Gabby mused.

“So, lemme get this straight,” Elissa said, leaning toward her uncle, “James Bond and Robin Hood produced a child, and you're dating him.”

“Something like that.” Phil sighed.

Clint laughed. “Something a lot like that.”

Kit tapped a thoughtful finger to her lip. “It's gotta be the child of Robin Hood and someone else. Maybe Mata Hari or Emma Peel.”

Elissa looked taken aback.

“Why?” Mr. Coulson asked.

Kit looked at her father. “Because Phil is James Bond.” The family looked at her blankly. “You only live twice,” she said.

Mrs. Coulson was the first one to laugh, then everyone did.

“Nope.” Clint shook his head. “Phil is way cooler than James Bond. Sure, 007 gets impressive stuff done but he's got all kinds of fancy gadgets to do it. I've seen Phil pull the same kinds of stunts with a glowstick, a bag of flour, and a lighter.”

Savanna looked up from her plate. “Won't flour explode if dispersed in the air and introduced to a flame?”

“Yes,” Clint chuckled. “Exactly.”

“Mom,” Dakota asked slowly, eyeing his uncle, “can I be a bureaucrat?”

“Not that kind of bureaucrat.” Shannon shot Phil a look. “If he goes into intelligence, I blame you.”

“I'm not the one giving him ideas!” Phil exclaimed. He gestured at Clint. “He is!”

Clint grinned deviously. “Then there was that one time with the mason jars and the hammer—”

“Stop.”

“Or the time with the cats-turned-attack-animals via laser pointer.”

“ _You_ did that.”

“Your idea.”

Elissa chuckled. “You should visit more often, Uncle Phil. Dinner is way more interesting with you and Clint here.”

“I agree with that completely,” Robert Coulson said. He and Julie Coulson looked at one another.

Phil blushed.

“You two finally going to Disney World?” Kit asked.

Maddie and Shannon looked at each other. “I think we finally have it worked out,” Shannon said. “And Cadie's old enough to at least enjoy Magic Kingdom.”

“Yep,” Maddie said. “We're renting a couple of two bedroom villas that are in the parks and right next to each other.”

“We're going along to help babysit,” Mr. Coulson said.

“Speak for yourself,” Mrs. Coulson said, “I'm going to visit Epcot.”

Shawn chuckled. “Why don't you come along, Kit? Plenty of room for one more.”

“Lawyers don't take vacations,” she said drily.

“You should, though, some time.” Mrs. Coulson looked at Kit and then Phil. “You too.”

Phil studied the remains of his spaghetti. Kit studied her brother before addressing Clint. “Ever been to Disney World?”

“Um, no.” Clint did not want to be a part of this conversation. He lowered his eyes and pretended to study his empty plate. “I've been to a lot of interesting places for missions though.”

“Work travel does not count.” Robert Coulson was firm. “I would know.”

“You have got to fix that, Phil.” Shannon was adamant.

“Me?” Phil was flummoxed. “Why do I have to fix it?”

Shannon rolled her eyes. Maddie said, “Well, duh. You're his boyfriend. Take him on vacation.”

“We've never really gone on vacation together,” Phil blurted.

“Oh, even worse!” Shannon said.

“Unless you count this,” Clint interjected quickly in an attempt to take some heat off of Phil.

“We stayed at a very nice place in Maryland for a couple of days before visiting Phil's grave and coming here.” He looked up to find Kit and Mrs. Coulson aiming identical raised eyebrows and skeptical expressions at him.

“Yeah, no,” Elissa said. “This is a trip and that's cool, but you're still meeting obligations. A real vacation is where you do something fun and different and get a break from your obligations and responsibilities.”

“Exactly.” Hector put a hand on his eldest child's shoulder. “Must've raised my girl right.” He looked at Phil. “There is room. You could come with us.”

Phil was pale but his voice was steady as he asked, “When are you going?”

“Week after next,” Hector said.

“Which means we will still be at Disney on your birthday,” Maddie said.

“Too soon.” Clint looked at Phil.

Phil nodded. “We'll have to get together for a different birthday.”

“We took a few days off this week,” Clint said. “The, uh, Director would never approve our leave slips for more time off that soon.”

Phil gazed at Clint with a small grateful-looking smile.

Robert Coulson nodded. “I imagine not.”

“Besides”—Kit addressed Phil—“you need to take your fella on a vacation where it's just the two of you.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “How would you know? You just said you don't take vacations.”

She smirked. “Oh, I've been known to be convinced to take time off when I had a good enough reason. Don't happen to have a good reason right now.” She leaned forward toward Phil. “But you do. More than one reason, really.”

Mrs. Coulson stood up. “Time for dessert,” she announced. Clint gazed up at her with a look of gratitude. She smiled at him and then stepped toward the refrigerator. Mr. Coulson got up and made a fresh pot of decaf.

“Dessert was a group effort.” Julie Coulson pulled fruit tortes and chocolate puddings out of the refrigerator. Maddie helped her get them arranged on the tables. “I made the cake bases,” Mrs. Coulson said. “Kit cooked the pudding, Maddie made fresh whipped cream, and Clint did the fruit, the assembling, and the finishing touches.”

“Those are beautiful,” Elissa said.

“Looks like it came from a fancy bakery,” Kit said.

“I didn't know you could carve little faces into strawberries like that.” Savanna picked a pudding up. “It's so cute.”

Coffee was served to the adults that wanted it, including Elissa, and dessert was served all around to much oohing and ahhing.

Dakota grabbed a second dish of pudding. “Can we call you Uncle Clint? 'Cause you seem like an uncle.”

Startled by the question, Clint looked at Phil who looked equally caught off guard.

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Coulson said. “That would be appropriate.”

“Welcome to the family,” Shannon said as she cut a second slice of fruit torte for herself.

“Thanks.” Clint shifted in his seat. He was flattered and uncomfortable at the same time. Phil put a supportive hand on his knee.

When everyone was finished eating, Robert Coulson stood up. “You kids go play for an hour while Hector and Shannon help me clean up the kitchen.” His grandchildren made clattering noises as they pushed away from the table and then made a beeline for the backyard.

“Thank you, Papa Coulson,” Shawn said. “I'll give Cadie a bath soon.”

Julie Coulson pressed a fresh mug of coffee into her son-in-law's hands. “Go relax for twenty minutes.” She turned toward Phil and Clint. “It's already gotten so late, almost seems cruel to make you boys drive back now. Why don't you stay the night?”

“Oh, I don't—” Phil began.

“No. Nuh-uh,” Kit interrupted. “The rest of us have been informed we're staying. We didn't get a choice. You don't get to get out of this.”

Phil blinked at her. “The rest of you?”

“All of us.” Shannon waved a hand. “Siblings, husbands, kids, dogs. _All_ of us.”

Phil looked at his mother then his father. “Where would you put all of us?”

Robert Coulson shoved a plate into the dishwasher then waved his hand. “Your mother had that worked out three days ago.”

Clint couldn't help but snicker.

Phil gave him a look. “What?”

Clint gestured. “You get it from your mother.”

Phil rolled his eyes. Julie Coulson chuckled.

Elissa shifted over until she was sitting next to Phil. “Please stay. It's been so busy, I haven't gotten to talk to you much. I'd like to show you pictures from prom and graduation and my friends at college.” She glanced at Clint. “To both of you.”

Phil patted her shoulder then addressed his parents. “I guess we're staying.”

Robert and Julie Coulson looked at each other. “We're glad,” Mr. Coulson said.

Elissa dragged Phil and Clint to the sofa. She sat between the two men and began going through the photos on her phone.

“That is a beautiful dress,” Phil said as she was showing them pictures from her prom.

“It's a great color,” Clint said.

Mrs. Coulson brought a photo album over that was labeled as being about Elissa. The young woman grimaced. “This begins when I was fourteen. I still had braces.”

“You were adorable with braces,” Phil said.

“I want to see,” Clint said.

Elissa rolled her eyes and opened the album.

“You _were_ adorable with braces,” Clint said.

A few pages in, Phil said, “I'm enjoying looking at your old photos a lot more than I enjoyed mine.”

Shawn fetched Cadence and bathed her. After that there was a steady parade of children being sent to bathe or shower.

Mrs. Coulson brought out cheese, bread, raw vegetables, and milk as a bedtime snack for everyone but Cadie, who was already asleep.

“Seeing as how the grand kids will be sleeping in here in their sleeping bags,” Mr. Coulson said, “it's bedtime for everyone.”

“Phil, you and Clint will be in your old room,” Mrs. Coulson said.

“At least I know how to find it,” Phil said.

Phil and Clint went to the car and retrieved their luggage. On their way back through the living room, they said goodnight all around and then retreated up the stairs.

Phil took Clint to a bedroom decorated in blue and brown with a queen size bed in it. “When I was a kid,” he said, “There were bunk beds in here. The color scheme was similar except there was more red.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Because Captain America?”

“Yeah.” Phil grinned as he unpacked a few items from his suit bag. “I even had Captain America curtains and a bedspread. Mom made them.”

“Oh my God.” Clint chuckled. “That sounds cute.” He put his suitcase on the bed and took out toiletries, a Tshirt, and his last clean pajama pants. Phil had done much the same. There was no need to fully unpack for one unexpected brief night's stay at the end of their journey.

“Now it's a pretty generic guestroom.” Phil set his suit bag out of the way in a corner beside the chest of drawers.

“Yeah, but I know it was yours and that makes it special.”

“Really?”

“Of course it does.”

Phil removed his shoes then sat back against the headboard and drew his knees up. “Extraordinarily belated question.”

“Shoot,” Clint said as he put his suitcase next to Phil's suit bag.

“What's your relationship to Natasha?”

Clint laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.” Clint shrugged and sat on the corner of the bed. “After she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. after I didn't kill her, we were assigned to work together—the higher-ups decided she was my problem—and we sorta started dating.”

“Sort of?”

“C'mon, you know Nat, she does not 'date' in any normal sense of the word. It took a couple months for us to realize we were actively going to murder each other if we remained a couple, so we broke it off, both tried to get reassigned, and were denied reassignment. Things were awkward for a while but got less weird with time. By the time we were transferred to you we were just friends. Pseudo-sibling best friends with way too many in-jokes for the sanity of anyone around us, but just friends. And that's what we still are.”

“That's it?”

“Phil, what's this about?”

Phil rubbed his hands over his face. “What I don't remember maybe. And finding it hard to believe you didn't move on. You could have started a whole new life in—in the time I was gone.”

“Sure,” Clint said automatically, voice too light. “Could have gotten married and everything. Plenty of time in there to have a baby.”

Phil looked stricken and Clint swallowed. The feeling he'd been trying to push away settled in his stomach like a bite of spoiled food. “It would have been easier, in some ways,” Clint said, “to do just that, to move on. Easier than continuing to love you. That's what everyone wanted me to do. Move on. Especially the therapists.”

“Is that kind of what you did,” Phil choked out, “with Natasha?”

Clint eyed Phil, then scooted close enough to take his hand. “Not even close.” The sick feeling in his stomach settled a little. “You must really not remember how Nat and I are together if you think that. Our relationship stayed just the same and I'm grateful to her for that. I might not have made it otherwise.”

“Stayed the same?” Phil frowned. “But you slept with her.”

“More like she slept with me, and I appreciate her sacrifice.” Clint exhaled. “Course, in similar circumstances, I'd do the same for her.”

Phil winced.

“You were dead,” Clint pointed out. “We weren't dishonoring anyone.”

“I know.”

“Extreme comfort for extreme circumstances. I didn't even lie to the therapists about what that was though it would have been easier if I had. Most of 'em wanted to characterize what I was doing as pathological grief. Only one realized I was moving through the stages of grief.” He looked up at Phil. “But kept loving you anyway.”

Phil had hunched in on himself and couldn't meet Clint's eyes. “I don't deserve that,” he whispered.

Clint moved over on the bed until he could put his arms around Phil. “Maybe none of us deserves the worst or best that ever happens to us.”

Phil took a breath. “Maybe it's a kindness to not get what we deserve.”

“Or maybe we get cheated,” Clint said, “when we don't get what we deserve.”

“I don't know,” Phil muttered.

Clint absently rubbed Phil's back. “Natasha could touch me because we'd touched each other before,” he said. “I knew what that would be like and it slots into a completely different place. If, some years down the road, I ever got to the point where there could be someone else, they'd have to slot in somewhere else. They'd have to understand that I still loved you even if I made peace with loving someone else.”

Phil was quiet for a long moment. “If I ever die again, Clint, I want you to move on. I want you to love someone else because I want you to be loved by someone. You deserve that and, selfishly, I don't want you to hurt like you've been hurting all this time.” He ran his hand through the archer's hair, fingertips warm against Clint's scalp.

Clint leaned into the touch. “I don't know,” he said. “If I'd done that this time it would have turned out all wrong.”

“I'd have gotten what I deserved,” Phil muttered darkly.

“From what you just said”—Clint leaned back to look at Phil—“we both would have gotten what we deserve, but neither of us would have gotten what we want.”

Phil cracked a small smile. “Now this is getting too philosophical for me.”

“Is it?” Clint gave Phil a questioning look. “You saying you don't want me?”

Phil froze then slid his hand slowly over Clint's shoulder and around to the back of his neck. “I want you more than anything.” He pulled the archer close. “When I heard from you, I was driven to the tower by a blend of fear, curiosity, and hope. A lot of what I knew about you was from reports, more theoretical than real.” He pressed his lips lightly to Clint's throat and whispered heated words into the sensitive skin. “The more we're together and I remember, the more real it becomes. What I feel has dived below the surface until it's bone deep.” He nibbled the soft space beside Clint's jaw. “Now I'm terrified because I feel how wrenching it would be to lose you, how wrenching it must have been to be separated from you. And I didn't even know. I think I felt it, like an ache from an injury I couldn't remember.” Phil choked. “But I didn't know.”

Clint captured Phil's mouth, lip meeting lip, breaths short and hot and hissing together, tongues touching, advancing, retreating.

“Maybe it was a kindness,” Clint murmured, “that you didn't have that pain.”

Phil shook his head. “It was stolen from me, that depth of feeling.” He pulled Clint into a deeper kiss and then slid down on the bed, tugging Clint with him until the archer was settled between his legs, chest pressing Phil into the bed. Phil tugged Clint's shirt off.

Clint pushed up and stared down at Phil in surprise. “We're in your mother's house.”

Phil looked thoughtful, then smiled small and mischievous. “My sisters have been here with husbands and boyfriends and girlfriends, but I never have.”

“Girlfriends?”

“Pretty sure Kit's brought some of both.”

“Huh. Makes sense.”

“Like I said”—Phil looked at Clint intently—“I never have.”

Clint swallowed, suddenly nervous. “The house is full of people, children, your family.”

“You're a spy.” Phil grinned. “Surely your stealth skills are up to being quiet.”

“Um,” Clint said. Before he could say more, in a remarkably swift and silent maneuver, Phil rolled them both off the bed. Clint found himself on his back on the floor being kissed by Phil until he couldn't catch his breath.

“Are we really doing this?” Clint whispered.

“Mmm,” Phil said. “I'll get towels for us to lay on in a minute.” He unbuttoned Clint's jeans.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Clint woke up, naked and wrapped around Phil, with Phil facing the wall. Hearing someone in the bathroom between the Jack and Jill style bedrooms—Kit, if he correctly remembered the planned sleeping arrangements—he rolled away from Phil'sback, glanced at the clock, then stifled a groan. Six fifteen. Of course, they'd gone to bed early and, even with the time taken up by the intense (despite, or maybe because of, being sound-suppressed) bedroom cardio, he'd probably gotten in eight hours of sleep. Even so, he'd rather not be awake right now.

He stared at the ceiling until the muffled sounds in the pass-through bathroom subsided. Yeah, not getting back to sleep.

He got up, took his turn in the bathroom, washed his face, and then got dressed to go for a run. Phil hadn't moved. The man was sleeping so heavily that, if Clint wasn't certain Phil had been warm and breathing when Clint was pressed against his back just minutes ago, he'd be tempted to check for a pulse.

Clint crept down the stairs, crossed the big foyer, inched around piles of sleeping children in the open living room, then slipped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He was not surprised to find Kit there. He was surprised to see her tying running shoes.

She looked up. “Want to go running with me, Aladdin, and Cleopatra?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “I was gonna ask where I might run.”

She handed him a bottle of water. “Just follow me and my babies.”

He followed her out the back door.

When they returned from their run half an hour later, Clint trotted up the porch steps. He sat on the top step facing the yard and took a swig from his water bottle. Cleopatra then Aladdin sprawled, panting, at his feet. Finally, Kit made it to the porch and collapsed on her back on the wood. “I run with my dogs,” she gasped. “You—you _race_ them. Holy crap.”

Clint laughed and took another drink. “I like running.”

“I thought I liked running….” She sat up. “You sure you're human?”

“I'm the normal-est guy I know.”

“I patently refuse to believe that.” Kit hauled herself to her feet. “I need food.”

“Food is good.” Clint stood and followed her inside.

Phil was at the coffee pot that had clearly just finished brewing. He glanced up and poured two mugs of coffee. “Want any, Kit?” he asked as he stirred sugar into Clint's coffee.

“Thanks,” she said. “You know I like it in the morning just not all day.” She smirked at Clint. “Kind of makes me odd man out in this family, but you fit right in.”

“I guess.” Clint shrugged. “Least as far as drinking coffee.”

She chuckled. “Oh, you fit in.”

Phil handed her a cup of coffee, black like his. “Thanks,” she said as her brother took a sip of Clint's coffee before handing it to him. She smiled into her cup. “Didn't think you like sweet coffee.”

“Depends,” Phil said.

“On whether it's his?” she asked.

“I like coffee all kinds of ways including cappuccino and dolce vanilla coffee.”

“Cappuccino's not sweet,” she challenged.

Phil rolled his eyes.

“What?” she demanded. “I'm a lawyer. We're argumentative.”

“Sounds like something from a Tshirt.” Clint was studying the contents of the refrigerator. He pulled eggs, cheese, and fruit out.

“Nah,” Kit said. “That'd be 'Lawyers do it while arguing.'”

Clint chuckled.

“'Spies do it undercover,'” Kit quipped.

Clint laughed harder.

“'Bureaucrats do it in triplicate.'” She smirked at her brother.

“Duplicate,” Clint muttered. “Not as young as we used to be.” Kit guffawed. Clint reflected that, despite their restraint and their intense focus on being quiet, she might well have heard them last night. If she had, she didn't seem bothered by it, was maybe amused, or happy for her brother. Even so, Clint was glad his face was still red from running so he didn't have to worry about blushing.

Phil put a hand over his face.

Kit elbowed her brother then gestured at Clint. “Do you go running with him?”.

“Not usually.” Phil stoically sipped coffee.

“Don't blame you.”

“He lets the scary Russian redhead run with me.”

“Tends to keep you both occupied and out of trouble,” Phil said drily.

“C'mon,” Clint said, “someone get me more omelet ingredients and I'll cook. I'd appreciate it if someone else would make toast.”

“Biscuits,” Kit said. She turned both ovens on then rummaged around in the freezer and pulled out a couple of big bags of frozen biscuits.

“Awesome,” Clint said.

Phil dragged ham, leftover chicken, vegetables, milk, flour, and spices to the counter. He pulled several pans out then set about helping Clint crack eggs while Kit arranged biscuits on nonstick baking sheets.

Half an hour later, Julie and Robert Coulson walked in followed by Maddie, Hector, Shannon, and Shawn carrying Cadence. Clint was finishing up arranging a variety of omelets on serving dishes while Kit put biscuits in tea towel lined baskets. Bowls containing assorted sliced fruit were already on the table.

“Oh, you're a keeper,” Julie Coulson said.

“I second that,” Maddie said.

Clint looked up. “You haven't tasted anything yet.”

“Doesn't even matter,” Mrs. Coulson said. “It's a good morning anytime I get up with this big crowd and don't have to start coordinating cooking. If it's imperfect somehow, say a little bland—which I doubt—we'll adapt, add salt and pepper or something.”

“Yep,” Hector said. “We're”—he gestured at himself, Maddie, Shawn, and Shannon—“usually busy in the mornings wrangling kids, so we only assist a little.” He examined a platter of chicken and broccoli omelets. “Hey, isn't that fancy.”

“Not really,” Clint said.

Maddie laughed. “We're usually lucky if we manage to get fruit into our cold cereal, so this is a great treat for us.”

“Oh.” Clint gestured at a different platter. “I made the plain cheese omelets for the kids but anyone can have some.”

Mr. Coulson pulled a pitcher of orange juice out of the refrigerator. “Speaking of the kids, let's try to eat in peace for a few minutes before they start trooping in.”

“Hear, hear,” Shannon said. She got Cadie settled with milk, a biscuit, and part of a cheese omelet. The four year old dug in with gusto.

Clint carved five apple slice bunnies then arranged them on a plate which he set in front of the little girl. She giggled and ate one.

“Man,” Shawn said, “now I really want you to go to Disney World with us. You cook and you're good with kids.”

“Can't get leave,” Phil said mildly.

Kit tittered. Shannon elbowed her.

A few minutes later, everyone but Mrs. Coulson was settled at the table with food, coffee, and orange juice. Julie Coulson started a second pot of coffee before sitting down. Robert Coulson drank coffee from a mug before handing it to her. She grinned.

“The omelets are awesome,” Maddie said.

“I agree,” Mr. Coulson said.

“You really can make a meal out of nothing,” Mrs. Coulson said. “If I didn't know what was in my fridge, I'd have no idea you put leftovers in these.”

“Thanks.” Clint beamed.

“Seven kids at Disney.” Kit said. “That's going to be challenging at the times when you all go together to the same place.”

“You learn to deal with it.” Hector shrugged. “Me and Maddie could handle all seven by ourselves.”

“Sounds like you wanted more kids,” Clint said.

“Oh, no.” Maddie shook her head. “We had Elissa and Savanna and we thought, sure we can handle one more, maybe have a boy. Then triplets happened. Think the ultrasound tech thought I was gonna kill Hector right then and there when she told us.”

“That's for sure.” Hector smiled ruefully. “Fertility treatments weren't even involved, so it was a big shock.”

“They're wonderful though,” Mrs. Coulson said.

“Oh sure,” Maddie said. “Wouldn't give 'em back for the world, but talk about the pregnancy from hell.”

“I remember that.” Phil stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You were very sick, for most of the pregnancy.”

Maddie put her hand on Phil's arm. “You came from Europe for six weeks to help look after me, Savanna, and Elissa.”

“That's when I became so close with Elissa.” Phil frowned thoughtfully. “I can't believe that memory was taken from me.”

Clint's heart lurched with yet another revelation of what Phil had suffered. Maddie and Robert Coulson both opened their mouths, evidently intending to speak, but they were derailed by the six older children swarming into the kitchen with a great clatter. Elissa swooped through, kissing each of her older relatives plus Clint on the cheek before pouring herself coffee.

“Mmm, omelets.” Savanna put a ham and spinach omelet on her plate.

“Made by Uncle Clint,” Hector said. His middle daughter nodded and sat down.

“Mom,” Dakota said in a tone that was becoming familiar even to Clint. Shannon cringed. “Can I become a chef?” the nine year old asked.

Shannon blinked. “Yes,” she said, “that you can become.”

“Sweet!” he declared.

Breakfast was a hit all around. Kit—and Cass and Gabby and Mr. Coulson—even snuck a few bites of the plainest chicken omelets to Aladdin and Cleopatra who ate the treats with clear enthusiasm.

Zach sat back in sated bliss. “Thank goodness there's no school tomorrow.”

Elissa giggled. “I second that, but I do have my summer job at the vet's office.”

“Yeah, but we don't.” Gabby was thoughtful. She turned to her grandmother. “Can we stay here a couple more days?”

Julie and Robert Coulson looked at each other. “You mean you kids? I don't see why not,” Mrs. Coulson said.

Within minutes, plans were finalized for Cass, Gabby, Zach, and Dakota to spend the week with their grandparents.

After breakfast, Clint and then Phil showered, dressed, then did the little repacking that was needed. Clint took the luggage down and put it in the trunk.

The kids and dogs swarmed out of the front door, followed by the adults. The hugs and farewells took half an hour.

Mrs. Coulson put her arms around Clint and held him tight. “Now you can quit visiting his grave and visit here. We'll make home baked goods together.”

“Yes ma'am,” Clint said.

“Bring him back soon,” Mr. Coulson said. “How about Labor Day?”

“Yessir,” Clint said.

Phil frowned. “Why are you asking him?”

Shannon smirked. “He'll make sure you get here!”

As everyone laughed, Elissa hugged Phil one more time. “Do come back. And is it okay if I visit you?”

“Sure,” Phil said. “I'd love to see you.”

She let him go and pushed him toward Clint. The archer took the car keys out of his pocket. Phil sat in the passenger seat and waved at his family, all of whom were waving madly back—including Aladdin and Cleopatra who waved with their tails—while Clint backed down the long driveway.

When they reached the highway, Clint realized that Phil was grim and white faced as well as quiet.

“Babe?” Clint said.

Phil scrubbed his hands over his face.

“You have a real nice family, Phil.”

“I...do.” Phil's voice was all but airless. “I can't believe I just let go of them, of you, of everything that matters, for so long.”

“You didn't,” Clint said. “It was taken from you.”

Phil winced. “I don't know if that makes it better or worse.”

“Some of both.” Clint began studying the highway signs intently. Fifteen minutes later he pulled off at a little rest stop. He went around and tugged Phil out of the car.

“What are we doing here?” Phil said.

“Getting your blood circulating.” Clint pulled him along a path deeper into a dense stand of trees. “You're too pale.”

Despite the late morning warmth of early summer, Phil's hand was cold. His voice was rough when he spoke. “Would have been so much harder without you there.”

“Guess I drew some fire away from you,” Clint said lightly.

Phil nodded. “Don't know how I would have explained you if you hadn't been there.”

Clint glanced at him.

“I want them to know about you.” Phil stopped in his tracks. “I'm glad they got to see you.” He pulled Clint close and kissed him, lips clinging together then releasing, just to the right side of chaste.

“Glad I got to meet them,” Clint breathed against Phil's mouth.

Phil turned away. “I don't know how I would have explained about”—he put their clasped hands over the scars on his chest—“this, and me, without you there.”

Clint stroked Phil's cheek. The color was coming back to the older man's face. Phil combed his fingers through Clint's hair. He closed his eyes and focused on the welcome, familiar touch.

“Are you all right?” Phil asked.

Clint opened his eyes. “Why wouldn't I be all right?”

“All of that”—Phil made a vague gesture toward the road and the direction of his parents' house—“can't have been easy for you.”

Clint shrugged. “Seemed pretty good for a meet your significant other's parents deal.” His cheeks heated. “Not that I'd know really, except from movies, but—uh—it might even have been a little easier than the usual scenario because I wasn't the focus of all the attention. Everyone was mostly curious about you and what happened to you.”

Phil thought this over. “You might be right.”

“Next time we go, I'll be old news, and so will you as far as your death and everything.” Clint grinned. “Pictures from Disney might be the worst we have to endure.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “And Kit and Shannon threatening to go online and book a trip for us.”

Clint looked away. Going on vacation was something he and Phil just didn't discuss in their years together, back when things were some weird kind of normal, back before Phil died. This shouldn't be hitting him hard at all, and yet it was, with a feeling he couldn't identify. Disappointment maybe. It sat in his stomach like a stone.

Phil blinked. “I didn't mean it that way.”

Clint made a gesture, trying to wave it all away.

“We'll go.” Phil caught his hand. “I'm not sure when and where, but we'll go on vacation together.”

“We never did before.” Clint consciously relaxed his throat before continuing. “You aren't obligated.”

“No,” Phil said. “I want to.” He brushed light fingers down the side of Clint's neck and made a shiver slide down Clint's spine. “The days at Gramercy,” he murmured, “and the nights, where we could just focus on us and whatever we wanted—needed—to do. I enjoyed that.” He placed a soft wet kiss on the sensitized spot his fingers had been stroking and Clint sucked in a breath. Phil smiled. “I want to do it again, have it be just us.”

Clint looked at Phil through his lashes. “Soon?” He tried not to sound hopeful.

“Soon as we can, before the end of the year.”

Clint's stomach didn't completely settle but he nodded. “How about we stop for an early lunch,” he said, reaching toward solid emotional ground, “then you sleep the rest of the way home. We'll see Mockta tomorrow.”

Phil nodded but resisted Clint's tug on his hand. At the archer's questioning look, he backed up against a nearby aspen tree. He pulled Clint flush against himself before kissing him, deep and lush. “Never want to give you up again,” he murmured between kisses. “Didn't want to give you up this time.”

“I know,” Clint whispered.

Phil pressed him close. “I want to be with you. I really really do,”he said beforekissing Clint breathless.

Clint pulled away slightly. “Think your blood's circulating again.” He flattened his hand against Phil's flushed cheek. “You're not pale anymore, and you're warm.”

Phil grinned. “Kinda hot, actually.” He kissed Clint one more time then moved them both away from the trunk of the tree.

Clint clasped his hand. “Let's go home.”

Phil nodded.

 

 


End file.
